


Dissolve

by 1000trillionpercent



Category: Hot Summer Nights (2018)
Genre: A Lot Of Gay Ass Flashbacks, Angst, Car Accidents, Hurricanes & Typhoons, It's a rewrite of the ending to the film, Love Confessions, M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:39:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000trillionpercent/pseuds/1000trillionpercent
Summary: “Hunter, listen to me. Dex is coming to kill me.” He looks too small, too frail, too terrified. His clothes stick to his skin, once-white shirt turned nearly translucent. It’s making this hurt so much more. Hunter can’t protect him the way that his heart wants to. “He’s coming. To fucking.Kill me.” Daniel’s voice breaks.





	Dissolve

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the real one [memeicorn aka Grey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/memeicorn) and [dreamofhorses aka Brooke ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamofhorses) for all his help in making sure this fic didn't suck

_“You broke my heart.”_

  
Okay, there are a lot of ways to fuck up in life, and Daniel’s reasonably sure he’s hit the fuck-up jackpot. Except the reward is a bullet between the eyes from a shitty, knock-off fat James Bond villain with a ridiculous haircut and a pedophile mustache. Fuck. He should have listened to Hunter. Why _didn’t_ he listen to Hunter? _Fuck,_ Hunter called it. He’s going to be so fucking smug with that _“I told ya, don’t come crying to me”_ shit. Asshole. Though, Daniel knows he deserves the scolding. Knows there’s no telling where Dex is, or if that creepy fuck has more than just the one henchman Daniel has briefly encountered. And his time left to continue being able to breathe is on a short, short, _ **fucking short**_ countdown timer. He has to get to Hunter _right now_.

 

Yeah, Hunter knew damn well this was going to go to shit. Of course, he did. Unlike Daniel, he’s able to see more than two inches in front of himself. Daniel’s impulse worked once in their favor, and that’s about as much as it would have ever been good for. He knew nothing short of chaining Daniel to the vehicle hoist would have prevented the kid from dreaming too big and fucking himself over.

 

He’d just hoped their conversation over lunch would have deterred him from going out and committing this act of unmatchable stupidity for, y’know, _at least a fucking day._ But perhaps that was just his terrible habit of assuming Danny had at least one brain cell.

 

The front room phone rings and Hunter knows it’s Daniel. He could answer, listen to the walking anxiety attack stammer and scream while begging for guidance, help, but he knows better. The kid’s probably on his way here right now, despite the warning to stay gone if he fucks up. _Hell, it’s perhaps because_ of the notice to stay away, knowing Danny. He rests his weight against the doorframe and idly counts the rings before the answering machine kicks in. There’s almost an excitement in him to hear Daniel whining and nagging about not being answered.

 

 _“You knew how this was going to end, didn’t you?”_ _Shit. **Fucking Shit.**_ Hunter feels a chill run through his body. _“I wish it could have been different.”_

 

Apparently, there’s being an absolute brain-dead idiot, and then there’s being Daniel Middleton. How the _fuck_ did he not take the time to figure out if this guy knew Dex or not?

 

This is undoubtedly a worst-case scenario.

 

Dex knows Daniel will come here, is probably on his way to the shop right now. He’s going to beat Daniel to death before Dex even has his chance to get his hands on the kid. Pissing off two massive dealers in one summer? Yeah, Danny’s a pretty face but, _fuck,_ is he worth the hassle at this point? He makes his way to the front counter and crouches. Only one thing to do, then. He locates the stained rag meticulously hidden behind a handful of boxes and carefully unravels it, revealing the pistol. Ponytail’s blood is still caked into some of the crevices, and Hunter’s more than content to keep it that way. Preserves the memory better.

 

Hunter starts pacing. His entire body is struck with a severe case of restlessness. He trades the gun between each hand several times as his eyes stay focused on the dirty cement. The rain is picking up, and he’s got a terrible fear that dumbass could accidentally run his car off the road on his rush to get here. His legs move on his own to the back room, and he’s sitting at one of the hard benches and resting his elbows on his knees. His left leg bounces rapidly as if it could expel all his anxieties with such a simple motion, and the barrel of the gun taps against the side of his head with the action. It’s almost numbing. Like this, he can practically think. Though nothing _genuinely_ coherent can pull itself from the white noise of hundreds, millions of equally terrifying future outcomes brewing in his head. It feels like he’s stuck like this for hours, though his inner clock is completely fucked. Still, he wonders if Daniel will even show. Maybe he’s already skipped town.

 

Perhaps it’s a good thing that everyone, save a few stray troopers, are tucked away safely at home or have tried to evacuate. _**Only the birds run for cover. We just dig our heels in and pray.**_ Daniel can barely stay in his lane with how often he’s looking over his shoulder or squinting at his rearview mirror. It’s irrational, Dex couldn’t have gotten here that quickly, and yet Daniel is expecting to see burgundy van turn a corner any second and start shooting his tires out. The rain’s picked up considerably since stopping at his aunt’s house, and it's almost to a point it’s hard to discern anything in front of the hood of his car.

 

Thank god for muscle memory. He’s confident he could find his way back to the shop while blindfolded and still keep most of his limbs intact. The lights are on in the waiting room, and that's got to be a good sign, right? He pulls his car under the canopy spot furthest from the door out of sheer habit more than anything. He remembers the time Hunter kicked some summer bird’s rental car for parking in _Danny’s spot_ and _having no respect_ before charging thirty bucks for his dime bag. Remembers the massive dent Hunter’s boot left in the passenger door, and the look of absolute rage the bird gave both of them as he threw the cash on the counter and took his product. Hunter split the money with him, and they got milkshakes that night.

 

Three weeks ago seems like it’s been years.

 

He takes a moment to breathe before he’s powering off the Camaro. He rubs his palms on his jeans for half a second before pushing the car door open. The surrounding noise hits him all at once, much like the mixture of rain and strong wind that begins to beat at his frame the second the opportunity arose. The howl of wind and the crash of heavy rain hitting the pavement is almost deafening, and nearly muffles the cries of the sirens that carry through the dark sky.

 

Daniel pulls his hoodie up over his head, trying to shield himself from the onslaught of wet and loud that threatens to swallow him whole without a second thought. He rushes to the door of the store as quickly as he can manage. The door’s locked, of course it is. Asshole. His chest is pressed to the window, trying his best to shy away from the sting of the rain, and he knocks on the glass. He hopes Hunter is awake, hopes Hunter can even hear him, hopes this doesn’t take too long under his time crunch. He looks behind himself periodically, but each time is greeted with the vacant and dark streets. The lingering, gut-wrenching fear grips him regardless.

 

“Hey, Hunter” He knocks a bit faster, harder. “Hunter!”

 

“Hunter it's me,” Didn’t exactly need to announce his presence, who else would come here at a time like this? “I know you’re in there.”

 

His throat sings from the efforts of his shouting, and he keeps looking behind himself as if Dex could materialize an inch from his back at any moment's notice. If he had more time, he’d fucking strangle Hunter once he comes out. But now he has to focus on being able to see him at all. **_And fuck, he really can’t manage this if he doesn’t get to see Hunter, regardless of how pissed off he is._**

 

“Please,” It’s quiet, more to himself than anything.

 

All of this, of course, is perfectly audible to Hunter. Each knock rings clear and loudly in Hunter’s ears until he’s finally pulled from his thoughts, though his hand continues to scratch the handle of the gun against his scalp idly. Fuck. He takes in a heavy breath and swipes a hand down his face. Do it quick, and get it over with. Just rip the band-aid off in one pull. He stands slowly, and his eyes move down to the gun for a split second before he’s looking into the front room; seeing the vague, blurry moment of Daniel’s figure as he looks around. He stays still in place for several seconds before he cocks his pistol.

 

 _Where the fuck is Hunter? What’s taking him so long?_ Daniel continues to look around the parking lot from where he stood, up and down the expanse of barren streets, the houses that were all near entirely black. Fucking power outages. It’s a blessing and a curse that the shop has a generator. For one, he can know Hunter’s in there because _it wouldn’t start itself, so you’ve got to fucking be here. I’m an idiot, but I know that much._ On the other hand, standing in front of the brightly lit waiting room, the only source of light on the fucking block, and it's making him look like an easy target.

 

Daniel’s pretty sure he almost has an aneurysm when he hears the door open next to him, but relief settles over him before he has the chance to keel over. That is, until… Well. He notices Hunter first, but he certainly doesn’t look like himself. Doesn’t look relieved to see him, doesn’t even look pissed about this monumental fuckup. He looks… Blank. Emotionless. This is completely unfamiliar territory. And then his brain helpfully registers the small silver pistol that’s pointed directly at him. Daniel nearly trips over his own feet as he tries to slowly back away. Confusion is the first emotion that hits him. And then it's fear. Hunter wouldn’t do this. At least, the Hunter he knows wouldn’t. His throat goes dry.

 

“Hey, hey,” His voice is shaking, and Hunter’s knuckles are white by how tightly he’s clutching the weapon. He wants to scream, ask what the fuck is going on, beg for an explanation, but all of those words die off before they reach his throat. He knows not to anger Hunter, has seen the consequence of anyone that ever tried. Had to clean blood off his own face more than once after Hunter got done with the person.

 

Daniel’s hands are at his sides, palms open. Defenseless, hopeless, and with nowhere to run. He swallows and gives a forced, pathetic exhale of a laugh “Woah.” His voice is trying to give out. He wants to run, but Hunter was the only place he could ever run to. So he’s forced to take this. Not like it wouldn’t be deserved, after all.

 

Hunter’s advances don’t stop, and Daniel looks between Hunter and the gun as he continues to inch a more significant gap between the two of them, “Woah, Woah Woah.” Hunter’s face is unreadable; his body is stiff, his eyes don’t even flinch from the onslaught of wind and rain. He’s finally stopped moving when there are about two yards of space between them. He’s wholly cold and unfeeling at this moment, and it’s fucking terrifying. _**What the fuck is going on?**_

 

Daniel licks his lips and begins to stammer silently, trying to collect a coherent sentence in the swirls of emotion in his head. What is he supposed to do? He doesn’t even know what Hunter’s doing. Did Dex put Hunter up to this? Is Hunter that pissed? It takes a few seconds, which feel like they stretch out for days, as he’s trying so, so desperately to say something. He’s panicked, fucking _**panicked**_ , and he feels like he might start hyperventilating.

 

Something finally clicks.

 

“You were right, alright? I shouldn’t have gone to that guy. I should have listened to you.” He’s on the brink of tears. “Now I fucked up, alright? I fucked up really bad.” He knows Hunter probably doesn’t want to hear _you were right, you were right, you were so fucking right_ a million times, but it’s all he has at the moment.

 

Hunter takes a deep breath, and he’s nodding absentmindedly. Daniel’s words are just going in one ear and out the other. He’s trying, trying **_so fucking hard,_** to divorce himself from his emotions; to hold back that urge to tell Daniel to get into the shop and they can try to ride this out, try to hide together until Dex gets bored. But he knows that won’t end well, know Dex’s type, knows that’s not a scenario where Daniel comes out alive. And that’s his top priority. Daniel just has to make everything. So. Fucking. _Difficult._

 

“I’ll count to three.” He’s blinking back tears as well, though hopefully it just appears the rain is stinging his eyes. His voice is still level, quiet compared to the roar around him.

 

_Just keep it together._

 

Daniel, however, is yelling with a force that makes his voice strain. “Hunter, listen to me. Dex is coming to kill me.” He looks too small, too frail, too terrified. His clothes stick to his skin, once-white shirt turned nearly translucent. It’s making this hurt so much more. Hunter can’t protect him the way that his heart wants to. “He’s coming. To fucking. _Kill me._ ” Daniel’s voice breaks.

 

The hand gripping his pistol wavers, and Hunter feels his chin quivering. He’s trying his absolute hardest to hold everything back. “One.” He punctuated the statement with a jerky forward motion of the gun. Daniel looks mortified, hurt beyond any reasonable definition.

 

His eyebrows are drawn together in disbelief; a deep frown etched into his face. His bottom lip trembles and he wants nothing more than to curl in on himself, cover his ears and close his eyes and wake up in the garage a few hours younger. This isn’t real; this isn’t Hunter, this isn’t him. _He’s asleep in the passenger seat of the Camaro. He passed out after their lunch together, after he propositioned this stupid fucking idea to Hunter. And Hunter’s driving them back to the shop, he’s got the radio turned down to just a low murmur, and he’s taking a long way back to avoid any roads with potholes and to minimize traffic. Hunter would leave the car running so the abrupt end of the engine purring wouldn’t wake him. He’d have the sectional doors of the body shop open, just for the explicit purpose of being able to catch sight when he finally wakes up and chastise him for passing out so early. They’re okay. Everything's okay. This is just a fucked-up nightmare._

 

But it’s not.

 

It’s fucking not, and he knows it's not. They’re in the middle of a fucking hurricane, and he’s not even sure he knows the man that’s standing in front of him. _Why the fuck won’t he just listen for one damn moment? Where’s Hunter, **the real Hunter?**_ He’s screaming through his wrecked, hoarse throat, throwing his arms into the space between them. Poke the fucking bear, what does it matter anymore?

 

“Alright fuck you, then fucking shoot me.” He spits involuntarily as he screams, _**“Fuck you.”**_

 

“Two.” Hunter’s composure is entirely intact. _Good._ Let Danny hate him. It makes getting him out of this town much more manageable.

 

 _Why is Hunter acting like this_?

 

Daniel’s rage fades back to the previous mix of incredulous and hurt. He straightens his spine for the briefest of seconds before his shoulders fall forward once again, defeated. His eyes and nose are red from crying. Snot and tears mix with the storm that’s still pouring water onto his surroundings. The winds rock his frail body. The harsh rain continues to sting his face, and he can’t seem to care at all anymore.

 

“I understand if you never want to see me again. I just need you to know…” He swallows hard, takes a deep breath, “I love you. I’m fucking in love with you, okay. And I know that scares the shit out of you, but I don’t give a fuck. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you, and I always will be. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about how this came out, alright? I’m not sorry for what I did because, honestly, if I hadn’t done it I don’t think I would’ve ever been able to fucking say this to you.” He laughs, although it's certainly overpowered by his sobs, “Couldn't get the balls to say anything until I’m about to fucking die.”

 

Hunter raises the gun higher, level with Daniel’s head. He’s given his confession. If it has to end this way, he’ll accept that. Hunter inhales heavily, jaw clenching as his teeth grind together. He purses his lips for a second, “Run away,” he says through an exhale, punctuating this with another forward movement of the gun. “Never come back.”

 

It. Fucking. Hurts.

 

Hunter never wanted to hear this. Not even if this day didn’t happen. Wouldn’t want to listen to it if it was said the day before Daniel packed up and left to go back to his mom’s, never returning to Cape Cod, probably never thinking about him again. Wouldn’t want to hear it if it was accompanied by promises of them living together at the shop. Wouldn’t want to listen to it if it wa paired with the proposal of both of them skipping town together. Wouldn’t ever want to hear a fucking word of any of this.

 

_Shit like that is temporary._

 

_Danny was never supposed to be temporary._

 

**_Family. That’s all I got. That’s what I worry about._ **

 

But he doesn’t have that, not really. Daniel was all he really felt like he had, knew he couldn’t keep that for long. Knowing, if he was _anyone_ other than himself, things could be so much easier just fucking hurts all the more.

 

Daniel exhales heavily twice and takes a step back, and shifts his weight on his feet for a second while shaking his head. “You’re the best thing that could have ever happened to me.” His voice is starting to give out. “You gave me a purpose in this fucked up world. I just wanted to say goodbye to you.” Hunter clenches his jaw again, “Alright?” Daniel throws his hands up in defeat, “Okay, that’s it. That’s everything.”

 

“Just go.”

 

Daniel looks down at the pavement for a second before raises his head, lips parting to say something. He thinks better of it and looks back down and shakes his head. There’s no getting through to him. He was stupid to have felt his confession would mean anything to Hunter anyway.

 

Daniel lets out a shaky exhale as he makes his way back to his car.  
Hunter’s hand is violently shaking as he lowers his gun. At least it’s over, now, then. His whole body is shaking, and he can’t even manage to breathe evenly. He’s done what he’s needed to do, held himself together through all of it, and now the control is slipping. He’s losing his cool. As he’s opening the door to his Camaro and climbing in, Daniel looks to Hunter with a mix of resentment and raw pain. Hunter’s already turned is back to Daniel and is stalking back into the shop, pushing through the front door as he hears the car start and Daniel pulling out of the parking lot to speed down the road.

 

Problem number one handled, at least partially. Hunter gently places the gun on the front counter. Even if this doesn’t pad out, at least Daniel will have some decent distance on Dex by the time the motherfucker is trying to chase his tail.

 

Hunter walks back to the workshop, willing his knees not to collapse on themselves. The couch feels like it’s miles away, so he settles for sitting down on a cooler in the center of the garage. Close enough. He remembers the time Daniel insisted he could do a backflip off of it because _I did gymnastics in middle school, dude; I can do a fucking backflip, just watch._ But Daniel’s left foot, which held the brunt of his all of 15 pounds of weight, was on the edge of the cooler and all he successfully did was tip the hunk of plastic over and slam his entire frame down on the concrete. He remembers spending the next hour sitting on the pavement with Danny’s head resting on his left thigh while he kept rattling off questions to him-  _“Why the fuck would I know the capital of Wyoming?”_ to assure the idiot didn’t have a concussion.

 

Daniel’s been gone not even five minutes, and Hunter already misses him. _It’ll be like this forever, probably only hurt more as time passes. Or at least until the pain slowly morphs itself into numbness. But who knows how long that will take, right?_ **Fuck.** He digs in his pocket and fishes out his cigarette pack and lights up with Daniel’s zippo. Was supposed to give it back after Danny returned from running the money to Dex’s contact. **_Fuck._** The sound of it clicking shut rings a lot louder than it should in his ears.

 

_This fucking blows._

 

There’s a flash of bright light that shines through the windows of the sectional doors for just a moment, and the hum of an engine outside before both stop abruptly. It’s not Daniel. Even his wildest, most optimistic thought knows it’s not fucking Daniel. The overhead door in front of him rattles for a second, and he sees the tips of calloused, fat fingers just barely peeking out in the inch between the pavement and the door’s weatherstrip.

 

The door raises slowly, and there’s Dex, dressed to the nines. Well, if “the nines” was looking like a pedophile with a bowl cut that’s about to go to a gay leather bar. Hunter doesn’t move. Let this pretentious asshole and the smug look on his face have his ‘grand entrance’ or whatever. Dex looks around for several seconds, and it’s all theatrics. He has his arms thrown out at his sides, a comical portrayal of confusion. _This isn’t fucking Scooby Doo, asshole._ He sways back and forth for a bit before his eyes settle back on Hunter.

 

“Where’s your boy?” He briefly wonders if both his hands could fit around Dex’s neck.

 

Dex doesn’t even know, and yet it feels like the jab is intentional. He’s always made jokes about the two, usually targeting Daniel more than anything. Hindsight suggests maybe that stupid fuck saw something he’d overlooked. _But that’s not worth thinking about anymore, is it?_ Regardless, this connotation fucking _hurts,_ now more than ever. Hunter looks down and fiddles with his cigarette. He’s doing his absolute best to appear as calm and nonchalant as possible, which is a fucking feat in its own.

 

“Where. Is your boy?” There’s more force to it this time.

 

There’s an almost sardonic tone to his voice. “I don’t know.”

 

Dex sighs, textbook parental disappointment. There’s a flash of a smirk, but it’s gone so fast that Hunter questions the authenticity of his vision. His hand dips into that ridiculous black jacket for a second and when it retreats he’s holding a matte black handgun. He’s making a show of displaying the weapon, twisting a wrist to Hunter can get the entire three-sixty view. _Fucking showboating pompous prick_. Dex looks from the gun, back to Hunter, and raises a brow in question. It’s the classic _“Does this jog your memory?”_ look, cocked eyebrow and all. Dex drops that hand down by his waist, and when he speaks again, there’s more authority to his tone.

 

_Finally getting down to business? No more of this theatrical evil villain act? **How sad.**_

 

“Now is not the time to be proud.” His expression grows colder, and his voice is quieter. “Tell me where your boy is.”

 

Hunter has to fight the reflex to clench his fists, puff his chest out and play big dog as he did in front of Daniel during their first encounter with Dex. Can still see the image of Daniel and that pink-red tint to his left cheek when he closes his eyes, and it’s dialing his anger up higher. He purses his lips, licks them, then sways back a little in his seat. He tilts his head towards one raised shoulder, and his eyes sweep up from the floor to Dex. “Didn’t show,” his voice is almost a whisper.

 

Dex is equally not buying it and not amused.

 

“What happened to you, kid? You coulda really been something.”

 

He really has to stop himself from laughing. What escapes is a small exhale from his nose and what is undoubtedly a shit-eating grin as his eyes float back up to Dex.

 

“What, like you?”

 

It appears Dex is fully aware he set himself up for that jab, and his eyes drop to Hunter’s shoes. Nodding, just barely, Dex’s takes a second before he’s found his words. His tone is self-righteous, cocky, the dude’s a fucking weed dealer, but he views himself as a god. “You knew how it would all end, didn’t you?” His head cocks to the side in question for the briefest second before he’s rolling his neck and stretching his spine. “Your whole life.”  
Hunter’s expression is even, annoyed indifference.

 

Dex pauses for a beat before something almost close to glee strikes his face, “Fuck you,” and a wicked smile, all cracked and yellowed teeth, joins the expression. He’s certainly not expecting a response, but he’s still dragging out whatever the fucking point of this is. Dex nods again, just once. “Okay.” He looks further down onto the pavement as he mouths the word to himself again and sniffles, rolls his shoulders, and shakes his head. Hunter can barely process, let alone outwardly react, before Dex’s hand shoots up and the garage rings with the sharp crack of gunfire.

 

The outside world wholly remains undisturbed, the action muffled by the pounding rain surrounding them.

 

_Fuck this storm._

 

_Fuck this **day.**_

 

**_Jesus Fucking Christ_.**

 

At this point, Daniel has _no fucking clue_ where to go, or, really, if running from Dex is even worth it. This night has already been enough of a disaster, perhaps having his brains splattered across the highway would be favorable. _Preferred, even._ At least, it's more desirable than his current state, eyes and nose red from sobbing, driving down an empty highway in the middle of a fucking hurricane. He slams his foot down harder on the gas as he speeds down the exact center of the empty intersection. It feels like he’s been driving in fucking circles. _He probably is._

 

The road in front of him is blurred by the continual onslaught of rain and the deafening sound of the drops crashing against the windshield and roof of his Camaro. And Daniel is numb to all of it. His focus is buried deep in his thoughts, and his body is operating on autopilot. He’s not fully conscious or at least doesn't feel that way, and he doesn’t register the harsh, white light of headlights or the blaring horn, let along the scrape and crash of metal before everything goes dark.

 

It feels like all he did was blink, but he’s sure he must have been stuck in the car for hours if the significantly darker sky was any indication. When he comes to, he can taste blood in his mouth, and his hands sting. It takes a few moments to notice the red stains splattered up his white shirt and the mixture of crimson and varied shards of glass decorating his hands.

 

His head is spinning, he feels short of breath, and it's exceptionally fucking difficult to get a grip on his surroundings. He notices, first, that he’s upside-down. Notices the mixture of gravel and glass shards that surround him on the pavement, even peppered around him inside of the car. Daniel can’t see much of anything from where he is, and he’s not entirely sure he wants to.

 

It takes several, excruciatingly painful attempts to unfasten his seatbelt, in which Daniel discovers flexing his hand in _any_ way hurt **_so fucking ungodly much_** that maybe just staying here and slowly developing a brain hemorrhage wouldn’t be so bad after all. It takes somewhere between four and seven attempts of trying to push down on the little square release button before the car finally gives him mercy and releases him, disgracefully dropping him shoulders-and-neck first down onto the mix of glass and shrapnel that makes up the interior hood. _Alright, step one complete._ His skin itches and he feels glass shard trying to dig into his flesh through the fabric of his jacket, but he lies in place for a moment regardless.

 

The exit strategy is laid out in front of him, given the passenger side door was completely dented in and the window completely broken from the impact of the crash. Crawling his way out of the Camaro proves harder than initially thought, but he’s managed to wiggle out of the upturned car on his back slowly. He’s greeted by the drizzle of rain.

 

Curiosity gets the better of him, and he glances at the unfamiliar car a few feet from him. He sees a few unmoving shapes, and he shudders at the realization that hits him. Daniel stumbles to his feet on shaky legs, and he can barely process the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions circling his head.

 

That crash should have killed him.

 

_**How is he still alive?** _

 

He has fucking nowhere to go now.

 

_**Is this some kind of sign? Destiny or fate or some other stupid fucking mumbo jumbo? Or is god playing a sick fucking joke?** _

 

Either way, what’s the point in running from Dex like this anyway? He knows where he wants to be, and if he has to accept a bullet through the skull from Hunter for daring to take a step back there, so be it. If Dex personally is waiting at the doorsteps of the shop to introduce him to a new murder weapon, that’s fine. He’s not playing this game of solitary hide-and-seek bullshit. It’s not worth it.

 

He runs the best he can on trembling limbs back in the direction he came from. Doesn’t fucking matter if Hunter’s going to continue to be an asshole about this. It takes longer than it should have to get back there, but he’s tumbling through the always-unlocked side door of the shop in due time. He’s just grateful to have some solace from the freezing rain. Hunter just needs to listen. Only has to understand, and of course, the idiot will realize once he gets out of his own head.  
He has to.

 

Daniel can’t even contain the relief that washes over him seeing the absolute mess of the back employee room, all the scraps of paper scotch-taped to the stained wall, various tool boxes, the lingering smell of cigarettes and WD-40. This is home. More home to him than the spare room at his aunt’s, or the bed he slept in at his mother’s house. There’s comfort here that can’t be replicated. And he refuses to give it up.

 

“Hunter” Daniel calls out, to no response. He knows Hunter’s somewhere, probably asleep on the couch by now. He continues navigating the halls to the garage, “Hunter, I don’t wanna spend forever running from that stupid creep. Seriously, if he shows up, at this point, I don’t fucking care what happens to me. I get you’re pissed at me and probably don’t want to see me again, but, please, just-” _I need to be here. Tell me I can stay. **I fucking need you.**_

 

His throat has taken the authority to shut him up prematurely.

 

There are several seconds where his brain just refuses to process what he’s seeing. He’s frozen in place before the sadistic, morbid curiosity of his subconscious has him slowly treading forward, eyes fixed on the heap of limbs and grey fabric which laid unmoving on the pavement. He sees the hint of dark red just barely peeking into view on the other side of the figure.

 

This has to be a joke.

 

_That isn’t Hunter._

 

**_This has to be a joke._ **

 

He gets as close as he can physically stomach, but it doesn’t even feel like he’s doing it. Like his legs are moving on their own. He feels miles away from his body, almost feels like he’s physically stepped out of his own being. The only thing that’s grounding him is the consistent, growing pain radiating through his ribcage. Daniel feels his throat tighten, feels his lungs spasm and flutter to try to catch his breath, feels the unbearable pain traveling up from his lungs to the center of his brain, but his body is transfixed in place, unmoving. He thinks he’s bound to collapse at any moment.

 

The sound of a car starting up just a few yards away startles him out of his trance, and he knows exactly who it is. His head, his heart, tells him to run out there screaming that _it should have been me, **Hunter never did anything wrong,** Hunter told him not to, Hunter played by the rules,_ but his legs stay cemented in place as his heart hammers painfully against his ribcage and his lungs threaten to burst. He can barely muster the ability to turn his head to the right and watch Dex’s car pull away and speed down the road.

 

_So the debt is cleared, then._

 

Daniel feels like he’s suffocating.

 

The sound of his own wheezing is nearly deafening in his ears. His chest and lungs spasm and flutter. It’s as if his body is equal parts trying to fight to breathe normally, and desperately trying to expel all oxygen from his system. _Really, right now?_ Whatever benevolent entity is watching him is indeed having quite the amount of fucking entertainment.

 

His hands move on instinct, to his right jeans pocket. No? Left, then? _No?_ He hands grip aimlessly along his chest,  _this shirt doesn’t have a breast pocket dumbass_ , down to his jacket pockets, hissing as the glass shards wedges in his knuckles plunge into the cold, wet, empty pockets.

 

Fuck.

 

**_Fuck._ **

 

_**How could he fucking forget?** _

 

The Fairground. McKayla. That fucking kiss that left him with a black eye and Hunter pestering relentlessly, badgering him with _‘Who did that? You at least kicked their ass, right?’_ Why the fuck did he toss his inhaler? Who the fuck was he trying to impress with that dumbass move?

 

_**How could he be such a fucking idiot?** _

 

His vision is blurring at the edges, and the coughing only sets in for half a minute before he’s sure he’s tasting the faintest bits of blood making their way up from his throat. Everything burns. Daniel has one hand on his neck, grabbing, pulling, nails digging in and letting go, all futile gestures made in hopes of calming this down.  
He hands shake as the violent coughing and wheezing wrack his frame, and he only notices his legs have given out when he feels the hard crash of his knees against the cement. Daniel can feel the faintest trail of blood on his fingertips and collecting under his fingernails from the force of how hard he’s scratching into his neck and upper chest. As if clawing into his form and ripping out the offending organs would help at all.

 

The ability to focus his eyes on anything is draining quickly, and Daniel’s vision is just starting to go dark.

 

Things are going black quickly, and he knows he’s fucked.

 

 

 _Daniel Middleton and Hunter Strawberry’s bodies were found on August 20th, 1991._  
_It was a Tuesday. They died young, and they left pretty corpses, becoming exactly what everyone expected them to become..._

**Author's Note:**

> please leave me comments 
> 
>  
> 
> [ My Hunter/Daniel playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/crankyplier/playlist/55aulljcFek56GIFjaPIlu?si=XwKg97spTG2V6WgzNqJNJg)


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